Replaced
by oneminorityofone
Summary: 221B, Baker Street will always be John's home, and when someone moves in, he feels cheated and possessive. But the girl, the strange, intelligent little girl who moves in is eerily... Sherlock. John, too curious, befriends her. On Hiatus.
1. Chapter 1

"It's been eight months, dear," the sweet, concerned voice said at nine am. "Are you sure you don't just want me to send the boxes over to you? It would save you all the trouble. Or Mycroft could deal with it. Just say so."

John clutched the phone as if it were a lifeline. "No, Mrs. Hudson," he said, as gently as he could. "I promise I'll come by and take the things I want and let you donate everything else."

John knew he was lying. How could he let Sherlock vacate 221B? What would Sherlock say? Where would he go? John realized that he was asking himself the Questions again and it did not help his attempt at the sounding normal. "I'll be there," he tried to sound reassuring.

"When is that?" she asked, uncharacteristically cool.

"Mrs. H, soon," John sighed, letting the exasperation color his voice. He didn't feel like playing games. She knew that he was nowhere near ready. It didn't matter how long ago they made the day his best friend left him sound. It was too soon.

Too soon, he was alone again. He never wanted to get used to it.

"Can it be as soon as next Friday?"She asked, knowing exactly what she was doing. "I've got a tenant ready to move in then. If you can't, Mycroft has said that he will deal with it."

John froze. "A tenant," he repeated. "Moving in? Into our flat?"

John barely heard, but Mrs. Hudson very softly said, "No, dear. It's not your flat. Not anymore."

"Yes, Friday," came the mechanical response.

John put the phone down very tenderly.

An intense sinking feeling came over John Watson immediately. He felt as if everything within him was being sucked away. He would have cried if he could. Mrs. Hudson was wrong. He could not bear to come back, and take care of it again. He could not even afford it, but 221B, Baker Street was still their home. That flat was still theirs. The stories that the dust, the bullet holes in the walls, the stench told was theirs. It was theirs! How would someone move into their flat?

Why would Mrs. Hudson let anyone do that in the first place? She knew what it meant. She knew who he was. She knew everything and yet, she was putting John through this. He took care of her. She knew that he loved her. Why would she do this? What happened? Why would she do this? She took care of them. She used to take such good care of her boys.


	2. Chapter 2

John could not let Mycroft deal with everything. Mycroft Holmes was not a man to be trusted. John was sure that he was, at the very least, in part responsible for his brother's death. He let Jim Moriarty get to Sherlock, to all of them. Moriarty was very real, and Mycroft knew it. Mycroft let his brother die. He let Sherlock lie to John, to everyone. John hated him with everything he had. He did not deserve Sherlock.

He pulled his coat on tightly around himself on a Friday morning, and prepared himself for a stoic tube ride to Baker Street as he left his flat. John could not believe that he was coming home again. It both felt like it was only yesterday he left his best friend playing the violin, and like it was a whole lifetime since he ran out of Baker Street to fail and to catch his best friend mid-fall.

The trip went by in a blur, and too soon, his cab was pulling over in front of the flat. He paid his fare and stepped out gingerly. Nausea swept over him, and his knees buckled. John closed his eyes. A strong familiar grip was on his forearm.

"Are you alright, John?" the concerned voice said.

John straightened himself up and looked at the man in the eye. "Yes, Mycroft. I'm fine," John pulled his arm free. "Please refrain from touching me."

Mycroft drew back, obviously offended, but gave a curt, "As you wish." He turned sharply on his heel and proceeded to the threshold.

John's blood boiled and spilled over. "Mycroft! Get back out there!" he bellowed as he ran after Mycroft up the stairs and into the apartment, but as soon as he stepped into the flat, the bravado and the rage dissipated. He was home. He didn't think he's make it in, but he did.

His mind's eye superimposed the live that they had led in this flat over the boxes of neatly packed things. Mrs. Hudson must have spent weeks cleaning the place up. How did she do that? Mycroft was standing still in front of him. "Ready to move out?" he asked mockingly.

Mrs. Hudson appeared wide eyed at the door. "What's all the shouting about?"

John ignored her. Big dark eyes found his, brimming with something familiar.


	3. Chapter 3

_Oh lordy. I realize this is all fluff__, but anywhoo. This girl's been in my head, in 221b, for too long. I decided to let her out. I'm making this up as I goooo.__ Sorry for flooding your universe with my inane words. _

_N_.

John stared at the girl's eyes for a little too long. A little girl was moving into their house. She looked, what, eighteen? So young, but she had something John immediately recognized. Intelligence.

Her face broke into a smile, she pushed in front of Mrs. Hudson and extended a hand. "You must be Dr. Watson. Emily Sanchez, pleased to meet you."

John raised an eyebrow, slightly taken aback, and hesitantly extended a hand. The girl smiled to warmly. He simply nodded before withdrawing his hand.

John directed his attention to Mrs. Hudson who was staring peculiarly at the girl. "Well, I assume that Ms. Sanchez here is the new tenant. I'm here to take my things." He turned around to face Mycroft. "The rest is all yours. Take care of it, since you're here."

"Now, John," Mrs. Hudson said, gently. "Are you sure you don't want to take care of this?

"No," He shook his head. "It's not mine. It's his brother's. Let him take care of it. Keep it, save it, burn it, throw it away. I shouldn't care."

The girl's lips were half smiling. John narrowed his eyes. He was suspicious of the girl.

Mycroft had not moved an inch. "What are you still doing? Get out of my-" John stopped mid-sentence and allowed himself to realize the hard truth. "the flat. I'm sure you've got some official business to attend to."

Mycroft simply raised an eyebrow, and nodded. He briskly stepped out of the room. A heartbeat later, two burly men came in.

"Which boxes, Ma'am?" the one with the blonde hair asked.

"Oh, those on two on the right and those three big ones in the back," Emily answered, during the pause Mrs. Hudson took to think about which boxes were Sherlock's.

"Oh, um," Mrs. Hudson stammered as she walked towards the boxes. "Yes, she's right, these five." John raised his eyebrows.

"How did you know that?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"Hmmmm?" the girl absently twirled her dark hair as she watched the men take the boxes away. "Uhhh. I'm nosy. I'm sorry."


End file.
